


Closing Walls And Ticking Clocks

by Persefata



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Author is not a native speaker, Bad English, Character Study, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Music, Isolation, Slight dyslexic author, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persefata/pseuds/Persefata
Summary: You still remember her, despite your best efforts to not do.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Closing Walls And Ticking Clocks

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Closing Walls and TIcking Clocks](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/720187) by persefata. 



> English is not my first language (in fact, this is an attempt to improve my English), so there'll be mistakes, a lot of them.
> 
> Revised and edited on 20/01.

You still remember her - despite your best efforts to not do - especially in the warm nights, when the heat leaves the ground and let everything smelling like a summer garden, like  _ her _ . 

The years pass, and you fight another people's battles, you fight in wars - saviors and the whisperers both - you move on, despite the ever-present ache in your chest, you keep moving, keep working to become the last man standing, just like she wanted.

You move on, but when the air is thick and heavy with heat, you lay in your makeshift bed and think about a girl with golden hair and the bluest eyes you've ever seen. Years have passed, but she doesn't age. In your dreams - in your nightmares - she's always the same, with the moonshine-drunk smile and the endless optimism. 

Years have passed, and you stopped looking for a sanctuary - you know that what you are really looking for isn't there anymore - when you get tired of running from yourself, you allow yourself to think about her. The years have passed, and you barely remember your own brother's face - the memory almost lost between the horrors you've seen in this new world - but you remember her, stubborn, beautiful, and dead way before her time.

The years go on, and you fight like you have a death wish in your very soul - and in some ways, you do - you dive into danger in the hope that, if you die, she'll be on the other side waiting for you. You see the Grimes children grow up. You watch her sister's baby learn how to walk and talk and tries very hard not to think about what could've been if things just had worked out in another way.

You move into the forest to live with your beloved ghosts, you close your eyes and see her face, and despite feeling miserable because she's dead, you also feel grateful because you still remember. You move into the woods and almost don't cry anymore. You keep thinking about those days in the cabin, in the funerary home, her soft smiles, her lovely voice singing along the piano. The way she always pushed you past your stupid limits. 

You think about her drunk smile. You have entire conversations with her in your head.

Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night. Sometimes, you don't sleep at all.

The years pass, and you grow restless, resentful. It's hard not to. You never had expectations, never wished for anything in your life, never dared to hope. And all of this for what?. For have the first thing, the only thing you ever wanted in your entire miserable life, to be ripped away from you in such a violent manner. You feel devasted, revolted. 

You move on and tries not to think about how she was waiting for you in that hospital - she waited and waited, and you didn't save her. You move on. You keep ignoring the pain in your heart and tries not to think about those little minutes when the group got her back. In the way she looked at you as if you held the sun in your unworthy hands. Those little minutes to say a goodbye you didn't have. 

Someday, you find a dog in the forest. A pitiful-looking thing, missing half an ear. 

You look at the thing and remembers her happiness at the funerary home when you told her that there was a stray outside. You look at the dog, the dog looks at you, and you burst into crying - and that's okay, there's no one around to ask why. You take the hound with you and don't even bother to name it properly.

You take the dog and leaves. The war is over, what family you still have left will be fine, and you're tired. The years pass, you keep thinking about the same joyful girl and prays that she'll be waiting for you - golden hair, bright smile, and open arms - in whatever exists after death.

All you can do is pray because now, after you carried her lifeless but still warm body in your arms, with those long lashes of hers brushing the top of her cheekbones - as if she were only sleeping. After you felt like your whole world had been ripped apart, you know better than wish for things you know could never yours.


End file.
